Fladd and Reese stare suspiciously at each other. They have reached a crossroads - a
turning point in their lives as runners and as men.
They are wearing tights.
With the simultaneous onset of cold weather and some fairly serious chafing, they have
made a fateful decision - they have decided to wear tights. This hasn't been an easy choice.
There have been arguments. Their resolution has wavered. It has been galling to think of
themselves as the type of men who would wear "Sissy-Boy Euro-Tights" - "Would Rocky
Balboa," they ask themselves, "wear something that looks this ridiculous?" Eventually
however, they have to face the fact that Sylvester Stallone never ran a the Boston
Marathon, and in any case, they really don't have a choice. It is ten degrees outside.
Thus the tights.
They go to an outdoors shop and buy two pairs of tights that are marketed toward hunters.
Their egos are assuaged somewhat by the fact that they are not CALLED tights, but
"Lightweight Thermal Underwear Leggings For Cold-Weather Activities"; it sounds
marginally more manly, though in fact, they look like black pantyhose. They buy the
largest size available and sneak them home in plain, brown paper bags.
When they get home, they each slink away to try them on in privacy. Reese crams himself
into his without too much trouble, but Fladd has greater difficulty. The manufacturers had
obviously not designed this product for somebody with his bizarre musculature, and the
tights split up the middle. He is forced to resort to his fall-back plan - a pair of actual
running tights.
Red Lycra running tights.
Reese and Fladd come out of their respective changing rooms and look each other over. It
isn't pretty. Reese grimaces, then starts to snicker.
"What!?" Fladd says defensively.
"You look like an elf with a glandular condition!"
"At least I don't look effeminate," Fladd retorts.
"I don't look effeminate!"
"Whatever you say, Laverne." Fladd sits down and starts lacing up his shoes.
They pull on multiple layers of sweatclothes and go running.
**************
The truly frightening thing about the whole situation is that the tights are just the beginning:
One of the great attractions of running as a sport is the perceived lack of a need for
specialized equipment. There are no clubs or racquets or speedboats to buy. No special
uniforms or aerodynamically designed helmets. The runner assumes that with a
comfortable pair of shoes and a road to run on, he is all set.
What the novice runner tends to forget, of course, is that this is America - home of
merciless marketing. If there is a potential market anywhere in the country, it must and
WILL be exploited. If Americans suddenly decided tomorrow to take up breathing as a
sport, there would be an industry centered around it within a month. There would be
competing magazines - American Respiration and Lung - and a whole apparel industry
selling special ergonomic clothing with cut-away vents on the ribs for "increased costal
cage efficiency".
Here is an actual description of a running shoe from a recent runner's catalog:
"Lightweight and road-cushioning, the compression-molded EVA midsole controls over-
pronation with a firm, dual-density medial post" What the Heck does that mean?!
It means an extra 30 dollars.
Shoes are just the start. Once you have the right shoes, you have to buy socks. What kind
of socks? Expensive socks. Space-age, light-weight, moisture-wicking, miracle-fiber
socks.
Then comes the special underwear (Actually, this is the one item that isn't a luxury.
Joggers - male and female - who are not properly strapped down experience discomfort
that can not be easily imagined by someone who hasn't been there.). Next come the pants,
the t-shirts, the shorts, the wind jackets, the inner shells, the outer shells, the watches, the
heart monitors, the computer programs, the hats, the gloves and a host of dietary
supplements.
And, of course, the tights.
And that's all before running one step. After that come the really insidious and seductive
expenses - soft drinks and granola bars. But (you guessed it) - not just any soft drinks and
granola bars - specially designed, high carbohydrate, low fat, lipid-suppressing, enzyme-
enhancing, high-fiber ENERGY BARS. Two-dollar bars that come in shiny, gold
wrappers with lightning bolts and pictures of surfers or mountain climbers. Bars with
chocolate chips, bars with berries, bars with oats and raisins, espresso-flavored peanut
butter bars - all of which taste like cardboard. Which are washed down with expensive soft
drinks - special hydrating, amino-acid and mineral restoring, carbo-loading, sports drinks.
Fladd and Reese try most of them and definitely feel an improvement in their
performances, but are haunted by the nagging suspicion that the credit for any
improvement lies less with the snack food and more with their subconsciouses attempts to
justify the expense of having bought the food in the first place. They finally settle with a
product that they like - Gu.
Gu is a gel that comes in little mylar sachets that is supposed to provide an energy kick
when the runner needs it most. Rumor has it that is absorbed directly through the lining of
the stomach wall and the esophagus. According to the manufacturer, it "maintains blood
sugar through controlled release of glucose polymers and amino acids ... contains no fiber,
fat or protein... and delays build-up of lactic acid through quality buffers, herbs and
antioxidants, thus enhancing performance and post-workout recovery." It's real advantage
over the other products however, is articulated by Fladd during a training run.
"Hey! This stuff tastes like frosting!"
************
Reese and Fladd come back from their run and strip off their outer clothes. Reese's
girlfriend is waiting for them. She can't help but stare in shock at Fladd in his luminous,
red tights.
"What do you think?" asks Reese, kissing her hello. "We finally look like real runners,
huh?"
"Well.....," she replies, taking a good look at him for the first time.
"What?!" snaps Reese, a little defensively.
"Well, you look a little effeminate."
"I do NOT look effeminate!"
She smiles.
"I DO NOT LOOK EFFEMINATE!" he insists.
"OK," she says, smiling more broadly, "But you have a run in your stockings."
